Pure Poison
by Shadowed-Seraph
Summary: Poisons don't have to come in a liquid form, sometimes you form them yourself What happens when the burden of the light becomes too much for Harry to Stand? HPSS SLASH WARNING WIP
1. Prologue

Prologue - _All frailties that besiege all kinds of blood_

Gasping for breath, a thousand hours to a second and he can feel the water, as cold as those moments of living death when being apparated by someone else all around him, up his nose seeping under his eyelids to touch the delicate tissues of his eyes with fingers like Dementors' talons. The unwise gasp leads water to slide down his throat, almost friendly, caressing, touching and pressing the remaining air out of his lungs in a trail of beautiful phosphorescent bubbles. His robe floats upwards like Ophelia's hair, tangled with the encroaching water weed as the water changes from deep green to black, like his own eyes in the dark.

Then something wraps around him, like a tentacle, but he knows that the giant squid is far from this dark cauldron of water, in the lake not within the Forbidden Forest, where light creatures, even giant, bad-tempered ones rarely venture. And it begins to pull him upwards – towards the light. He wants to protest but no words form – the darkness at the corners of his eyes has reached out and is swallowing him, and he's glad. Heartbeat loud in his ears like the Japanese festival drums Hermione had on her portable cd player – drowning out the need to breathe, even in the newly approaching air.

He surrenders to the darkness and lets it eat his soul.

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Serverus Snape, potions professor of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was jaded enough to think that he'd seen, if not it all, then most of it in his lifetime; however, he'd never expected to be lifting the Boy Who Lived from the pool of shadowed reflections near the heart of the Forbidden Forest.

The pool was nothing but a flat expanse of greenish black volcanic glass, unless one offered it something. Then it could become whatever was reflected in your darkest desires. He had seen it glow like the finest gold, become a sunrise, a pool of healing. He'd never seen this black forbidding darkness like a portal to the Underworld with Hades himself awaiting the unfortunate at the bottom.

But then, for the life of him, he'd never expected to lift the 'saviour of the wizarding world' from the water, hair grown longer over another summer slicked to his skull and merging with the darkness of school robes; arms hanging limp, knuckles almost merging with the grass; cerise water gently mingling with the early morning dew…

Pink water…

A curse left his lips – curling with them a sneer that was normally given for Potter's poor performance in his class – and let go of the variant of _Wingardium Leviosa _which was keeping the boy aloft, before moving swiftly across the spongy carpet of moss and grass that kept the forest looking a permanent, verdant dark green, and kneeling beside Harry and looking down. The wounds on his wrists were long and jagged, not knife wounds, and were interspersed with other, older scars, slim and ragged both – writings of the soul.

Snape gently ran his fingers over the open wounds, murmuring under his breath as they healed. Complicated healing magic didn't require a wand, but it did require personal sacrifice. He wasn't the most talented of healers, but the wounds would heal and Potter wouldn't die of them. He sighed before turning the boy onto his back and kneeling at the top of his rump; gently massaging, watching water spill from between ice-pale lips before turning him so that he could perform artificial respiration.

Then breath fluttered, once, twice, a choked sound that caught on the edge of tears before green eyes opened, held like jewels between the night-dark thatch of lashes and the purple shadows of pain beneath. And the green that he'd often looked at as spring grass was dulled and shadowed like the toad pickled in brine in his office.

Almost against his will one arm slipped beneath the boy's head, drawing the soaked body closer to his own for warmth, not for comfort. No, he wasn't the sort to offer that to boys of seventeen who were thorns in the collective side of the Dark Order and his classroom organisation structure.

And those tormented – almost, broken? – eyes looked up into his through the broken shadows of those long lashes and a voice made shattered and harsh by water and choking screams in a whisper asked, "Why?"


	2. Chapter One

My thanks to AngelAriel, SofiaDragon and Cortamone. Without your reviews, I wouldn't have thought about writing a second chapter for this fic, and having delved a little more into the mindsets of both characters I think that would have been a mistake.

Chapter One – _Or some fierce thing replete with too much rage,_

Why? Dear Agamemnon, but the boy was perfect at asking the densest questions for the most stupid reasons possible. He was a teacher. Suicidal pupils were not encouraged at any school, especially not at Hogwarts, and most certainly not the Boy-Who-Kept-On-Going.

Answering the question would have been beneath his dignity, so he gathered the boy in his arms and stood – Merlin, but the boy was light, even with the water-drenched ruins of his school robes. The frown that life had made his relaxed expression deepened at the edges. Something wasn't right.

With steps made elegant by the sheer lack of speed possible when carrying said boy, he headed towards Hogwarts' walls. Not the main door – that would have been too obvious – but along the walls to a door which led directly down into the dungeons. Some enterprising Slytherin of years past had created it – the rumour was it had been Salazar himself, of course that couldn't be confirmed, but he had always liked the idea.

Shoving the door with his shoulder whilst murmuring the required password was easy, as was navigating the cool dampness of the dungeons to his room, the phosphorus lighting increasing in strength as it sensed two magical signatures passing through. He couldn't help the sigh of relief as he stepped into his own quarters, through the prickling rush of wards.

Normally, they brought him a sense of peace, today, well... He looked down at the boy in his arms, and instead of insensible peace found the tight lines of awareness and something close to contempt in eyes that had somehow abandoned spring for the darkest heart of the forbidden forest.

The corner of his mouth quirked. "Why Potter? Why not?"

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Why not?

Why not!

The look in beetle black eyes glimmered, as if all of this was some sort of game. And perhaps it was, perhaps stopping the actions of students was all a bit of fun to a Death Eater turned spy. Something to keep him amused when there was nothing else to do. Anger stirred in the darkness within him like some great Lovecraftian horror within the black abyssal reaches of space, reaching out of the icy night to strangle, crush and burn…

Around them the room shook, the stone wall he could just about perceive behind Snape flickered suddenly with colour, sickly greens and yellows, highlighted with red and black and a shade of purple he was certain nature had never seen.

The pupils in the eyes looking down at him became tiny, pinprick dots before flaring outwards in the darkness that suddenly swallowed them and he felt something within him open up and swallow his rage and pain, something deeper and darker, and oh – warm – warm where there had been nothing but cold before flooded into him. Promising a sleep without dreams and a blanket of peace, if only he'd fall…

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Lid's fluttered closed over eyes so close to madness it had shaken even him. So near to a familiar vermillion stare that he had confronted through the holes in a mask since he was sixteen – right down to the bruises of tiredness only darkened by the shadows of long lashes.

"Academic malpractice, I can hear the board hearing now," he murmured to himself as he carried Potter into his bedroom. Albus would understand, he was certain, but only if he broke the boy's confidence, and he was reluctant to do so. Slytherin had always been the home for waifs and strays, those who had cunning built into them, and those who had been forced to learn it to stay alive. He'd never considered the Potter boy to be like that, but then, he was marked as Lord Voldemort's equal and something of that had to have rubbed off surely.

Perhaps more than just a scar and an affinity for talking to snakes.

With gentle hands made slender and nimble by years of slicing and chopping potions ingredients, he removed Potter's robes and winced at the body it revealed. Apart from the scars he himself had healed on the boy's arms, there were older marks; ribs malformed that possibly had been broken, and those he could see were too visible – maltreatment, or some sort of psychological disorder?

He shook his head in gentle worry. When he awoke, something would have to be done about Harry James Potter.

Just what that was, he didn't know.


	3. Chapter Two

Hah! I know it's been ages, but I don't have computer at present, and I dare people to try and write these updates in a public library!

As always, many thanks to my reviewers, you are the best people in the world :)

Chapter Two - _So I, for fear of trust, forget to say_

"It's never easy, is it, Harry, making yourself do what is expected of you when all you really want is something else," the voice was low and caressing, and as familiar as the first touch of dawn stroking blades of grass. The hissed syllables touched things inside that he didn't want to think about; stirred them and made them look up. All of the horrors of the seconds between moments.

He turned from looking out over the craggy landscape to look into a face so like his own that it would have fooled the unwary watcher: black hair lifted by the wind but not tousled, styled and perfect; cheekbones under skin pale and perfect, as if by design rather than touched with malnutrition and lack of sunlight; body slender, well proportioned and muscled like a gymnast or swimmer rather than skinny and underfed.

But it was the eyes that told them apart.

The eyes that watched him, so full of amusement, were like bloodstone, green speckled with red like blood splattered holly. Pupils, elongated like a serpent's, widened slightly in the dim twilight that surrounded them. "What do you mean?" He knew his voice sounded wary, or weary, or some combination of both but he couldn't summon the strength to care.

Ruby lips curled upwards at the corner – a fallen angel's smile – innocence and sin mingled and brilliant. He wondered if anyone had ever seen him wear that smile, or had pictured him wearing it as his own voice answered, husky and touched with...pity?

"You're never allowed your own choices, are you? One way or another, you were born to be someone else's tool. Even taking your own life is denied you." The other moved closer to him and gentle hands touched his face – calluses from a broomstick gently caressing – and those eyes, brilliant and blood-stained, locked with his and there was pity there. Yes, pity. Like a wolf before the deer – hungry and feral. "They want you as a weapon, Harry my love, but I know differently, like you do... You weren't born to be a weapon…"

Those sinful carmine lips touched his gently, and he felt the burning pain in his forehead. Agony – piercing, sweet, and beautiful as a whisper chased into his mind. More intimate than any touch.

"…you were born to die..."

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It wasn't a scream that woke him from his uneasy doze by the fire – although he suspected that it should have been. Potter's sleep/unconsciousness had been still, only the boy's breathing letting him know that that the battered child was actually still alive. It was a hitch in that breathing, a whimper half made or a cry stifled whilst aborning, that stirred him to full wakefulness. He wasn't a healer, hair-triggered by a patient's sound of pain, just a mercifully light sleeper.

Getting up, he wandered over to the bed, ready to see a wound trailing blood, or some other suitably melodramatic way of expressing pain that only someone like Potter could manage. But there was nothing there, only the boy's mouth open, as if he were waiting to be kissed by some phantom lover, and the tense strain of someone in terrible pain. There had been horror and despair written there before, but not agony.

With a hand made gentler than normal, Severus reached out to brush back overlong hair from Potter's forehead. He looked like a sheepdog, like that mutt of a godfather of his. Neither were looks that suited the boy. The very tips of his fingers swept over the familiar, famed lightning bolt scar and pain darted through his forearm like boiling water over the skin. The curse word that left his lips was pungent and all gentleness disappeared as he shook Potter like a rag doll.

The boy's eyes flickered open, green like perfect emeralds, but there, at the heart for a second, was a ruby flaw. Terror wrapped around Severus Snape's heart like a hungry boa constrictor and it squeezed and squeezed, robbing him of breath. "Potter?" He heard the question in his voice, a flaw in his usually well-practiced tones, but he had to know. Had to be sure of what he'd rescued from the pool.

Those eyes focused on him, slow as a glacial ice age and he wondered if the boy had managed to damage anything inside of his head during his attempt at ending the life-that-would-not-end, and then they focused, hard as diamonds. "Sir…" Hesitation then, as if searching for the right words in that soft broken tone that tugged at places Severus was certain he'd cut out with his own hand. "…let me go, please."

Let me go, not why anymore. The boy didn't seem to care: just let me go, just turn your back. It would be that simple – and that difficult, because if he did so the boy would die. The pool of dark reflections would swallow him whole and those eyes didn't deserve to die, not with such broken, shattered innocence within them. "No," his voice was calm but firm. "I saved your life, Potter. That means that its mine, and I choose not to let you end it."

Mine. He hadn't quite meant to put it that way, but there was something possessive about…something. He shook his head, pushing the thoughts away. If a wizard's debt was what it took to keep Potter alive, then that was what he would use. He looked deliberately down his nose at the boy, into those confused eyes, and let one corner of his mouth twist into a smile. Anger could, he remembered, be everyone's ally. "And what do you suppose, Potter, your saintly" father would think of that."

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No.

Snape had said no to allowing him to die. He didn't want his death, which was wrong. He knew that Snape hated him, knew it deep down with the passion of the eleven-year-old he had been when he'd first" seen those coal eyes glaring fire at him on his first ever day at school.

But wait.

He wasn't saving him to like him; he was saving him to use him, to own him. Like Dumbledore, like everyone else. Because Snape was right, it was almost written on tablets of stone that if another wizard saved your life, it became their's until the favour was repaid.

"_Weapons, Harry. Passed from hand to hand. My little saviour, born to die."_

The whisper was in his mind, wrapped in the sudden upswing of his anger – the dragon's breath within before it became fire, a torrent of burning ice. He knew his next move would be violent even before it came, but his body couldn't support it. He took a swing a Snape's face. Saw those eyes, like the dark spaces between stars, widen and shine, but he couldn't make it. He tumbled and would have fallen if Snape hadn't caught him in a surprisingly gentle fashion.

Held against his teacher's chest, he could feel the beat of the man's heart and smell a faint musky sourness, like bergamot and lemons, and he realised Snape was chuckling. He rolled his head up to see dark eyes looking down at him and a smile – faint, but real, in the shallow curve of the potions master's mouth. "Such fire, Potter, for a dead lion." And he could think of no retort, nothing else to do or say but watch the man's amusement.

It sobered soon enough and their eyes stayed clashed for a moment – green grass reflected in dark water – and Snape's voice, mellifluous and darkly-perfect, rubbed like velvet over his abused mind. "Death is too easy a release for those like you and I, Potter. Now, sleep and don't wake me with your dreams again. We'll talk more in the morning."

Harry knew he should have been angry, should have been filled with rage, but with those eyes on him filled with something like compassion, and that voice telling him how he felt, that dark warm hole within him opened again and swallowed him into sleep once again.


	4. Chapter Three

Bonus chapter ;)

Chapter Three - _To eat the world's due, by the grave and thee._

Morning was breaking, blackbirds were singing. Severus Snape, professor and potions master, hadn't slept since he'd lain Harry Potter back onto the sheets of his bed. You couldn't see dawn in the dungeons, but over the years he had learned to feel it – the weight of night lifting off of his back. Death Eater meetings had normally ended with the rising of the sun.

But what was he to do with the suicidal saviour of the wizarding world? A grimace crossed his lips and he attempted to shrug away the tension in his shoulders. He was going to have to talk to the Golden Boy and listen – treat him like a Slytherin and try and ignore how annoyed the boy normally made him simply by breathing, simply by looking at him as if there was hatred between them.

He smirked. He didn't hate the boy; hatred would have meant that at some point he'd cared for him. He found Potter irritating, but then, that also included most other students at Hogwarts. The older Potter got, the less he looked like James and the more Severus could stand him – it was that simple really.

Standing, he crossed over to the bed, settled on the edge and looked at the boy, looked really closely at him. It wasn't a settling sight. The ribs had to have been kicked inwards for that sort of damage, and left unhealed. There were patinas of old scars that had to be from knives, and one that looked like – spell damage? He shrugged; those were regrettable but couldn't be fixed. With a professional's gentleness, he lifted the boy's wrists; those marks were already gone, the skin pale and fragile over fine blue traceries.

Muscles tensed under his fingertips and he looked up the boy's body to see green eyes watching him, not angry or panicked but with a sort of flat, uncaring calm, as if he'd been violated so many times that it no longer mattered what was done to him, or by whom it was done. It was a look Severus Snape was well acquainted with, he saw it in the mirror every day. Although eyes his own shade suited the look better than this boy's.

"Good morning, Potter." Jade eyes met his own, and for a moment they made him dizzy. They were like something priceless that had been smashed, lovely but full of sharp broken edges. He tried not to think of where he had last seen that look – full of broken ruby red desire that could only be quenched with one thing. Potter's lips quirked for a moment, but it was closer to a rictus than a smile. "I don't make bowls for a living, professor. As I'm naked in your bed, perhaps, just perhaps, you could call me Harry," the boy paused, as if breathing was difficult, and with those ribs, perhaps it was, "and there's nothing good about this morning, sir. I'm still in it."

Bitter as limes, those eyes glared at him, and he nodded slowly. He wasn't a good counsellor – and everyone in his house knew it – but he'd listen, and try and give a true answer. He lied too much on Dumbledore's behalf to do it on his own time. "Tell me then, Harry, why my morning would be better if I'd allowed you to dive into the pool of shadowed reflections and die. What would that have gained me?"

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That voice. Snape, he decided, must have practiced and trained to be able to use his voice like a mellow instrument; a deep toned cello played by a master. Sometimes, he lost track of exactly what the man was saying in classes because of the way he said it, but now he could listen. It was like having the finest silk dragged over an open wound; it snared his concentration and dragged in his attention.

The pool of shadowed reflections. It had seemed the perfect place, the perfect escape; after all who went there? It was in the dark heart of the FORBIDDEN Forest. He could feel it even now – the water smooth around him and not at all cold, the water weeds wrapped around him like a mother's loving arms welcoming him home – and all the time he could feel Snape's eyes on him like a touch; almost the feeling of fingers touching his aching ribs with gentle curiosity.

"Harry?" the voice again, and he had to answer, he was compelled.

"Because it would be better that way, for all of us. I was born to die." A silky caress within him almost made him arch and whimper as he spoke the words out loud, but he didn't. He had to finish. He had to explain, and perhaps then Snape would count the debt as paid. "Better I die now and get it over with than have to keep on waiting." He'd allowed his eyes to drift close, better that than have to look into obsidian eyes across the bed sheets from him and see the agreement in them.

_Ahh, Harry, my darling boy. _The whisper wrapped around his brain, numbing him, helping with the pain as it had done when Dudley's friend Piers had kicked his ribs in whilst Dudley looked the other way. _You know them, they won't believe you, and this one especially. A traitor to every cause. A true serpent._ His lids flickered upwards and he could suddenly see Snape's face, highlighted again in those whirling maddening colours. His lips were taunt, as if he was hurt? But that couldn't be right. It was Harry that was in pain, not Snape.

Reaching out a hand, wincing at the stabbing pain in his ribs, he touched the potions master's face in a way that he remembered Hermione touching him shortly after Cedric had died. "It would be better, Professor, if I'd never been born." He smiled. This, he was certain, would win the point with Snape. He had to agree, wizards debt or no. "Look how many have died and suffered so I could live, so I could become a weapon in Dumbledore's arsenal. His golden child – that isn't. The boy who lived to be trained to kill." He felt his lips curve into a smirk that he'd copied from the man in front of him and Malfoy, as well as countless other Slytherins, as he met black eyes squarely. "What a wonderful use for a dying mother's love."

It was a surprise when one of the long-fingered potion master's hands came up to touch him in return – no one touched him kindly – and he felt himself flinch, despite the gentleness of the touch, as Snape's long, fine fingers wrapped around his throat. They didn't squeeze, just remained there – brushed against his pulse – and he felt as if a circuit had completed, as if some sort of switch had been thrown in his mind, and he relaxed for the first time in … he didn't know how long.

Snape's voice floated to him, a gentle glissando of deep sound. "So, Harry, you want to die. You don't value your life." He nodded, letting his eyes close with a sigh, feeling his body slump slightly into the sound hold Snape had on him, not caring if it cut off some of his air. It didn't matter, not at this moment in time, as Snape's voice hissed into his ear, "Then you'd give it to me?" His professor already owned him, but he felt like he was drowning in narcotic pleasure. Nothing was too much trouble. He nodded again. "Say it P…Harry."

He felt his head loll back and the word slipped out, "Yesssssss..." Parseltongue or human speech, he didn't know, nor did he care.

Firm hands pushed him back and he could see the smile at the corners of Snape's mouth and he let himself smile back. "Excellent, Harry. Then all I ask for now is that you take this." Snape handed him a delicate vial, suddenly all business. The liquid within was the colour of a morning mist. He took the vial without a moment's hesitation, and drank it in one swift swallow. It tasted like violets against his palette, and darkness – that welcoming warmth – spread through him and dragged him under.

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Severus looked down at the boy, a victim of the nasty sleeping potion he had palmed before beginning the chat. In the name of Merlin, the boy was fucked up. He'd lain there in a stranglehold and looked as if he'd been granted a date with the girl of his teenage dreams.

Born to die.

The prophecy could be interpreted like that, which meant, of course, that Albus had told the boy all of it, not just edited highlights. Stupid old fool. Potter hadn't been through a war like the rest of them, hadn't killed with his bare hands – but he had seen death, perhaps too much too soon – and Dumbledore had been training him over the summer. That was why he was here earlier than the other children of his age…

He stood, lifting his fingers away from Harry's face with something that wasn't reluctance, walked to the fireplace and flung some powder into it. "Albus Dumbledore."

For a moment, it was silent, and then the Headmaster's face appeared in the flames. "Severus."

He nodded and looked into fire eyes he knew were blue and twinkled. "Albus, I have your boy here."

One of the Headmaster's eyebrows rose. "Harry?" He nodded again, feeling a little like a donkey at a Muggle seaside resort. "And why is that, Severus?"

He felt a twitch in his cheek, irritation – as if he'd deliberately hurt a child – so he decided to be uncharacteristically blunt, "Because I found him floating in the blood-stained waters of the Pool of Shadowed Reflections."

For a moment, he thought the Headmaster might just understand him – he could see shock painting itself in the widened eyes. "He was attacked." No, he was obviously still being too subtle.

"No, Albus, he attempted to kill himself." What have you done to him, told him, tried to make him into? Tell me now…

"Ah," the Headmaster's voice was soft and surprised. It was a sound of pain as well as comprehension. "Severus, I'm coming down."

He shook his head, the boy was sleeping now. But there was power coiling, waiting to explode. He was safe from it, especially with the boy's oath binding his magic, but Dumbledore wasn't. "I'll come up." And he stepped into the fire without another word.

Reviews will bring love and chocolate-covered Lucius! Or Tom! XD

AN – All of the chapters have been subtly re-written thanks to excellent beta-ing from Batsutousai go read her fic… she is MUCH better than me!


	5. Chapter Four

As always my thanks to my reviewers Pendecardiel, an unwrapped chocolate covered Lucius for you, and an update as well frissbee, I'm glad the story doesn't gross you out, I try and keep within the realms of what I'd like to read ;p good luck with your finals! Tyleet27, thank you for your compliments, I'm afraid I need Severus for this story, but when I finish with him he's all yours :) Batsutousai, you are now my most worshiped beta, I value your input tremendously, I give Tom to you in perpetuity with a chocolate fountain by the bed Potions Mistress 101, your brain isn't pea sized! Working inside of Severus' brain is enough to give me a nosebleed! Enemywithin7, keep an eye on the pool ;) it won't disappoint Eyeinthesky, it's a really old concept, I thought the wizarding world would like Shadow Bete Noire, Katsy15, animegurl088 and firebellania thanks so much for letting me know you like it!

And yes, as some of you may have guessed this will go AU as we go along. No I don't own Harry Potter if I did I'd be wealthy not poor!

Now on with the motley!

Chapter Four - _My love looks fresh, and Death to me subscribes_

He'd always thought Albus Dumbledore's office looked like the nest of some demented magpie; shiny things glittered left, right and centre in an attempt to lead the unwary eye. It could have been, of course, that Hogwarts headmaster had no sense of fashion or décor, but Severus Snape was fairly certain that the whole room was a trap for anyone who didn't practice Moody's 'constant vigilance'. It was supposed to bemuse and baffle you into an unwise move. It hadn't worked on him since he was quite young; he couldn't afford to be flash blinded – not with so much at stake. Allowing his eyes to travel the length of the room, he saw the puppet master himself, seated behind the huge expanse of oak that made up the headmaster's desk, watching him with blue eyes that seemed more tired than merry at that precise moment.

"Severus, my boy, you bring me grave news." He winced inwardly. Why did Dumbledore always sound like he was speaking to history, every word and phrase ready to be recorded for posterity? Why oh why couldn't the man just ask for the news, or a report? But no, he had to sound like something from a Shakespearian tragedy. Taking a step forward he nodded, he knew it irritated Albus that he refused to play along with the farce of formality. "Yes, I suppose you'd think it fairly grave that your boy saviour is in my bed, and almost bled dry." Severus managed to stop the smirk before it hit his lips with an effort of will – if Dumbledore, by any chance, had an 'impartial' witness, like the werewolf, hiding in a corner, that would bring them out. He wasn't unaware of the vampire rumours, and the sentence did sound properly debauched.

Yes, there it was, as if the Headmaster had bitten into a lemon – mouth puckering behind the beard and a slightly unfriendly twinkle in those blue eyes. Dumbledore was a showman, and didn't like having things run away from him, especially not his tame Death Eater. "Severus, I do not think now is an appropriate time for your attempts at humour…" The old man's voice was flat, normally not the best of signs. "…you have informed me that you believe Mr Potter to have attempted to take his life on school grounds, something that I remind you should not be possible under the wards laid down by Rowena Ravenclaw. Personally, I find nothing amusing about it."

Severus rolled his eyes, yes, there it was, Dumbledore the all knowing and all powerful, second only in might to Merlin himself – dear lord it was tiresome. "If you recall, Albus, I told you I found Harry in the Pool of Shadowed Reflections - you are quite right to quote Rowena's contribution to the wards but you must remember she has a distinctly Roman philosophy on these things, a gap was left, a way out for those with no other way to turn. That is the Pool's purpose: to answer ones darkest and most intimate desires, much like Salazar's mirror." Which I know Potter has seen, you old codger, the last sentence was finished silently; he really didn't need to explain the intertwining subtleties to Dumbledore.

Dusty blue eyes narrowed and he could almost watch his superior's sharp mind follow the threads of chance and prophecy to try and sort out what had happened to his Golden Boy, what had led him there. Severus stayed silent. Truth be told, he wanted to know just as much as the old man did. "Has he woken, Severus? Spoken at all?" Now there was a crux. Of course the boy had awoken, had said things, but they were private – he knew that much – not meant for dissemination amongst the masses – even if one of those was Albus Dumbledore – so he slowly shook his head. Lying was something he excelled in, as was keeping secrets, and something compelled him to keep Harry's secrets close to his heart.

Those eyes continued to watch him, assessing, before a sharp, decisive nod ended the introspective period. "Then I must assume that something is seriously wrong with Mr Potter and make a decision as his de facto guardian." Ahh here it came, the moment when the boy would be claimed outright for the Order of the Phoenix, but how would it be couched? "Someone must care for Mr Potter's welfare. As you have apparently saved his life, Severus, it seems best that you help me choose." Snape repressed the cynical smile that wanted to pull up the corner of his mouth. Perfect, have Harry's most hated teacher make the decision that would change his life, neatly taking any ire of the boy's off of Albus. He had to hand it to the man, he would have made a brilliant Minister.

"Of course, Headmaster." He kept his voice expressionless, and his eyes locked with Dumbledore's. The man had no way in, his mind was locked tighter than a vestal virgin's thighs.

"Excellent, Severus. It comes down to three choices – the boy may stay with his Muggle relatives." He shook his head, and Dumbledore should have expected it. No wizarding child should ever have to stay with Muggles, and if his suspicions were correct... Well, there was something to be said for Lord Voldemort's way of dealing with non magic folk. "No?" Despite the question inherent in the pause that followed, there was little doubt in Dumbledore's voice. "Then Remus could certainly have Harry at Grimmauld Place." It was an option – the boy was fond of the werewolf – but he'd reserve judgment, those blue eyes were still watching, weighting his every motion. "Or, he could be placed in your care Severus. You have long handled Slytherins' thorny crop of pupils with a light touch and steady hand."

And the trap was sprung.

Severus could feel it in his veins – pulsing underneath his skin – a choice between an easy path and one scattered with rocks and scourged by thorns; yes, he could let the boy go to the werewolf, Lupin, almost maddened by grief at the loss of Black. They might, together, find something of a path through the wilderness that surrounded them both – a kind of survival-based co-dependency. But he couldn't countenance that, couldn't actually stomach the thought. The why he didn't bother to consider, it was enough that it revolted him. Which meant taking on the Boy-Who-Lived himself – could he bear it? Yes, with some ground rules. At least he would give Harry a choice in the direction he wanted to walk.

"I'll take the boy, Albus." A flash of, what? Surprise or triumph sparked in cornflower eyes. "But certain conditions have to be met." He could hear the flatness in his own voice – felt weariness drag his bones, even as Dumbledore nodded at him to continue. Wasn't being a spy enough? He had to be a nursemaid too? "The boy lives with me, in a suite attached to my own – that includes during term time – until I see fit for him to return to his house. He doesn't attend classes until I feel he is ready to do so, nor will he see other students until I believe him to be ready. This is for their safety, as well as his."

He watched Dumbledore's face, but was still surprised, and made wary by the almost instant capitulation he read there. "I do not believe, Severus, that Minerva will like your conditions."

He shook his head, his voice more gentle now victory squirmed within his fingers, "Minerva is more flexible than you give her credit for." He had a soft spot for the Scottish Deputy Headmistress, and she loved Harry Potter as if he were her own grandson. "We'll liaise, but I have your word on my conditions?" Dumbledore nodded and Snape took two steps back into the fireplace. "Excellent. Then I'll get on with Harry's rehabilitation." And, without waiting for anything further, he flooed back to his chambers.

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Darkness cocooned him.

He could hear his own heartbeat rushing around him; liquid and real like moments in a mother's womb.

_Sleep._

Gentle voice like the shushing of owl wings in the dark comforted and healed him.

_Purple – Red - Gold._

Colours solaced his wounded mind, sliding around him like bandages filling the gaps with comforting numbness.

_Violets._

The candied taste against his tongue, delicate and ethereally comforting.

_Warmth_

Comfortable, caught somewhere between sleep and awake, Harry stretched himself out, allowing relaxation to seep into his bones. Something was making him tense and afraid, but he didn't know what, nor did he care. He felt so good, so peaceful and calm – but then he didn't remember why he should be upset.

_Magic…_

Its use in the room slid over his nerves in searing patterns, and he felt something stir low in his stomach, something wild and hungry, and his eyes flickered open, blurred and unfocused. The light was dim but, he could see the figure by the fireplace, lined in purple and gold, red shifting through, the figure moved liquid and graceful in the semi darkness of the chamber. It made no noise, no step, to destroy Harry's dreamlike state. And the colours; he could remember the colours from earlier sliding through him like silk bandages….

_Need._

He wanted to touch it, draw those colours into himself. He sat up quickly, before it got away.

_Pain._

Agony sparked through his body, starting at his ribs, and with pain memory, returned as sudden as one of Dudley's punches in the kidneys when he was holding a pan full of hot fat. He let out a pained sound and despised, it closing his eyes to try and master himself once more, wishing for the taste of violets to return, for oblivion, but the memory remained.

He opened his eyes and found himself looking directly into the face of Severus Snape, Potions Professor, and the man who owned his life, but for some reason refused to end it. Black eyes were full of something – contempt? No, not quite right. He couldn't put a finger on it, and the colours kept distracting him, dancing out of the corner of his vision. Snape's mouth was down turned, nothing unusual there, except, he would have thought the Potions Master would have been dancing for joy to own him. He opened his mouth to ask a question and started to cough uncontrollably. His ribs stabbed with pain his throat was dry and parched– and suddenly, water spilled between his open lips. He swallowed, but his strength was failing him again. He felt himself slumping, and an arm caught him, keeping him upright.

Water finished, he looked up. Those raven eyes were still on him, but something like – concern? – glimmered there, and he realised it was Snape holding him. "Sleep Harry." The deep voice was certainly dispassionate enough.

"Why?" his own sounded like a badly damaged clarinet, broken and filled with splinters, and the one word was all he could manage. He was tired and hurt and wanted release.

Snape shook his head, dark hair slipping forward to momentarily shield his face. "Sleep. I'll answer that question when it means something." Then the arm behind him was laying him down, and prone sleep was harder to fight. He felt Snape's arm removing itself and long fingers brushed against his throat on withdrawal. Numbing lassitude seized him, dragging him into sleep without dreams.

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	6. Chapter Five

Chapter five - _What is your substance, whereof are you made_

Severus looked down at the boy, sleeping again, eyelashes shadowed crescents on violet bruised skin. It was, he was fast discovering, always 'why' with Harry as if the child couldn't bear not to know. He had been on his way to bed, finally, when he'd felt eyes on his back, a lifetime as a spy had made him turn to look, and see Potter watching him with all of the wonder of a five year old faced with a fairy – it had stopped him in his tracks that look, wondering if Harry's sanity had slipped away even as the boy had reached out and doubled over in pain.

Those ribs would have to be fixed, he just wasn't sure how, he suspected they'd need re-breaking. It was the boy's response to his touch that worried him most – Harry just relaxed, let go, as if her were immensely trustworthy. And that really wasn't safe. After all, they were at odds most of the time. He sighed but he did, technically, own the boy, and the child knew it, and seemed to, need it.

He gritted his teeth, and walked into his bedroom, he was thinking in circles, nothing useful would come of constantly swinging around and around the same maypole of thoughts, he knew exhaustion when he felt it. And this was it dragging at his limbs like lead weights clouding his thoughts and making his neck ache. Still fully clothed he lay down on top of his bed, and let sleep claim him.

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"Severus………"

Hissing syllabants made his name a sensuous noise, like the caress of leather over skin but his muscles tensed, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up like a frightened cat, his eyes came open quickly and he rolled over to come face to face with. Potter. The boy's eyes were watching him with interest, a slightly detached interest, but jade eyes scanned him in a slow sultry up and down that looked, just wrong. He sat up, swiftly and met those eyes, and they were almost – glazed.

"Potter" his own voice was sharp as he looked around, it was dark, wherever they were, dark and cold, there was a wind coming from nowhere and the scent of damp carried on the chill. Neither were good for a boy who had recently attempted to take his own life, but Harry didn't look concerned, a chill shuddered up his spine again as he met the Boy Who Lived eyes "where are we Potter?" in response to his demand lids covered green eyes for a moment in a drawn out blink and a puzzled wrinkle formed between messy black eyebrows "we're here professor" the boys answer sounded, young, bewildered. Perhaps whoever had caught them had hit his head.

Delicate fingers, marked with Quidditch calluses reached out towards him, and he had a flash of déjà vu, the boy had tried this earlier before he'd been doubled over by pain – he let his own fingers drift up to brush the boy's, a poor attempt at reassurance, for either of them, but he felt, something like warmth steal into him followed by a snakebite of pain that made his hand jump back in instinctive withdrawal and those green green eyes cleared into something like shock "Professor? You shouldn't be here" then they hardened into glacial ice "I don't want you here" and one hand lashed out and shoved him backwards with more force than he'd believed possible from the broken youngster, he tumbled backwards……………

And woke up.

Panting at the sudden change in scenery he sat straight up in bed, still clothed. His innate time sense told him that he hadn't slept for very long – a blessing in disguise if Harry was going to give him nightmares, he rubbed absentmindedly at his hand feeling a twinge of phantom pain and then looked down, on the usually moon pale skin of his hand was a mark like a scorch mark as if he'd touched something and been burned- on the place Harry's dream fingers had brushed him.

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"Something you don't want me to see Harry my love" Harry turned, slowly, from the place where his Professor had been black eyes watching him in concern and confusion. His head felt clearer than it had in a long time, and he gently slid his fingers up to touch the black velvet rope that encircled his throat, a brand of ownership, belonging. He knew Snape didn't understand, if he belonged to him then he was his property, and he knew from arguments and accusations about potion ingredients that his Professor took things that belonged to him very very seriously.

And he so badly wanted to belong.

"Ahh" as he finished turning a sigh of satisfaction left carmine lips and glinted in crimson slashed green eyes "I see now" he looked up into that face shadowed slightly be artfully tousled midnight hair before the other boy knelt and gently ran a finger around the velvet of the collar and those lips quirked upwards into a Slytherin smirk "giving yourself away Harry love, how typically Gryffindor of you, tell me, if death won't take you, my lion, why would Severus – he doesn't even like you – you don't like him. And death, my sweet boy, death does like you he wants to keep you and claim you for his own"

Harry looked into those blood splattered eyes, and had no answer to give

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	7. Chapter Six

_AN: Thank you so much to everyone who has reviewed with such kind words, it really makes the writing worthwhile, I hope to continue winning such flattering approbation! To those who asked, I pour chocolate over the sexy slytherins and throw cherries in abundance this is a short chapter as I'm incredibly busy at the moment_

**_Chapter six -No song encompass it, no other worlds._**

"Magical resonant feedback" the hushed voice of the head in the fire murmured "rare, but not unheard of in high magic, high stress cases" Severus met the headmasters flame limned eyes with his own, and sighed, rubbing again at the marks that stood out roseate against his own pale skin tone. "So Potter is to manage to abuse me even in my dreams" He had meant for his tone to be cutting, maybe even sarcastic – however It had emerged tired and drawn.

A frown beetled Dumbledore's brow, making him look more unaccountably ancient than he normally did "I have a suggestion Severus my boy" Severus my boy had, in Snape's experience the ring of something he wasn't going to like at all, but he nodded, he wasn't stupid but Albus was in a class of his own "Sleep with the boy"

Shock blindsided him.

A blink.

A breath.

The sudden flash vision of the dream potters delicate collar dark as midnight against the boys pale skin.

He knew his breathing had gone choppy, staring at the fire Albus he swore "Merlin, what do you think I am" For a second something like confusion chased across the headmasters face, then comprehension followed like a fox after rabbit "Not that way Severus, I meant next to him being close may stop him from magically reaching out and entangling himself with your sleeping mind"

_Ah. Of course_

"Are you certain that's wise Headmaster?" Dumbledores fiery head winked at him through the flames "Of course Severus, the entire faculty would trust your discretion, and Harry's sanity is of more importance right now than your prudery" Of course, his mental monologue sneered, golden boy potter once again more important than the rest of the world. …. Poor broken child.

Sympathy for the devil? The world was obviously ending. Without giving Albus a reply he walked away from the fire and into the bedroom currently holding the sleeping Potter. The boys face was furrowed with misery even in sleep, pale even in the depths of the shadows under his eyes as if something had gently dusted him with snow. Reaching out with one hand he felt the boys forehead, chill moistness seeped in to the tips of his fingers, and there, seeping down from beneath closed lids were the warm tracks of tears.

Sighing in defeat Severus lay fully clothed on top of the coverlet and composed himself for sleep.

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The other had left him, all alone in the darkness with the cold slowly seeping into his bones like a tide of sorrow and shame. It was always like this, so cold, dank and blacker than any dungeon Voldemort could ever have designed for him.

And so lonely.

A flicker at the corner of his eye caught his attention, and held it, riveted he stared, light, there was never light here. But there in the distance was a warm fire lit glow. He stood, wincing as the wind howled silently, biting into his flesh like rabid worms on rotting meat and stumbled towards it, the rocky surface piercing his feet like glass.

It hurt and it felt like aeons had passed before the surface under his feet turned to black sand, and he was sure he could hear the sound of surf and there sitting by a driftwood fire was Professor Snape.

His fingers flittered to the collar at his throat, as he tugged the man looked up and obsidian eyes pierced the dark with their stare "Sit down Harry, you're letting the wind in" His knees buckled but the sand caught him in a curiously sun warmed embrace and looking through the flames of the fire he almost thought he saw the professor smile.


	8. Chapter Seven

glomps all her readers thank you so much for your reviews, and so fast! I'm glad your all enjoying this little romp of mine _Fayet _I am really busy but I'm glad I could greet you with something to lift off the rain _cut-wrist-kate _this story would go badly if it was revulsion now wouldn't it and_hittocerebattosai_consider your glomp returned! A quick note from me, if you want my mental idea of Severus' voice expressed in music listen to yo-yo ma play Elgars cello concerto.

Chapter Seven -_ The expense of spirit in a waste of shame_

Nearly midday, his mind obligingly answered him as wakefulness prised his lids open, Severus groaned slightly, generally he hated mornings, it was something he'd learnt to deal with as a teacher now however he just felt battered, rolling onto his side his fingers slipped over warm skin. Shocked raced over him pulling hairs up all over his body forming chilled gooseflesh, realization followed, Potter…Harry he supposed since the boy was, as had been pointed out by self same child, naked in his bed.

Sitting up he looked down at the boy, sleeping soundly still pale against the coverlets, but some of that agony was gone. Perhaps the young body just couldn't sustain such a high level of ancient emotion, he didn't know, he was also trying not to think of the strangely vivid dreams that had plagued him through the night like the albatross behind the mariners ship.

Rolling off of the bed he padded barefoot and cat quiet into the bathroom and threw himself into the shower, letting the water almost scald him, sluicing over muscles that he knew his students wouldn't suspect cleaning himself of the previous day with fastidious disdain for dirt.

Dry and re-dressed Severus wandered back into the bedroom to look at his new charge, still sleeping the steady rise and fall of the boys chest reassured him. But the worry lurked, what was to be focused on today. Not the why's that would have to come later when the boy wasn't quite so, broken. Not the ribs either, those would need poppy pomfreys more expert attention. So, perhaps…

He smiled to himself, feeling warmth slide along his veins tinted with amusement that was it, exactly.

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_Warmth_

_Comfort_

In the space between asleep and awake he knew that he was safe and warm but that the main bulwark of his safety was gone, he could still feel the fading heat where it had been, he rolled to be closer to it and agony closed like the jaws of an angry dragon around his chest.

The sound he made was embarrassingly like a whimper and his eyes opened slowly eyelashes glued together with sleep to find Professor Snape leaning over him, what had to be concern mirrored in dark eyes but a sardonic smile curling the corners of his mouth "awake at last Harry"

_Harry?_

Whilst the tone was dry and sarcastic there was something there…. No, he was attempting to pull wool the size of Hagrids scarf over his eyes if he thought that professor Snape actually gave a toss about him in a more than saviour of the wizarding world kind of way, and even then "Get up Harry, I need you to help me with something"

Help, Severus Snape needed his help, panic washed up over him like the tide, he couldn't help anyone he couldn't even help himself he…..

A pile of black material his hind brain identified as robes hit him in the face as his panic began to crest "I don't have all day Harry" There was that name again, he remembered vaguely telling the professor not to call him Potter, but he'd never expected to be listened to not in a million turns of the globe.

In a state somewhere between shock and dreaming he stood, cotton sheets slid over his skin followed by the robes, they weren't his, cool against his skin sliding like silk just that bit too long, a little tight at the shoulder but they covered his nakedness caressing his skin like a thousand whisper kiss touches.

"Harry come on" Snapes voice was more insistent now, the higher octaves of the cello coming masterfully into play and he stepped off of the bed like a puppet pulled by strings that no one could see but were no less insistent. Harry followed the sound of Snapes voice through a doorway and had a spoon thrust into his hand as soon as he was half way through the door "Stir, counter clockwise until I tell you to stop"

His mouth opened to argue but then the crushing black dragon landed once again on his shoulder smashing all objections flat, what was the point?

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A slight smile touched the corner of Severus' mouth occupation was a first step, even if he'd seen unhappiness enter Potters eye, mind numbing work would lead to answers to his questions sooner or later.


	9. Chapter Eight

AN : - Huge thanks to all my reviewers, if I didn't know you were reading along I'd long since have given up, for those of you who said you were going to look for the cello concerto I hope you found it its well worth it :)

Chapter Eight - _Who art as black as hell, as dark as night_

Stir

Stir

Stir

Stir

Stir

A bubble rose from within the liquid which had turned the perfect colour of a midwinter's sky, grey blue and filled with white streamers of bubbles that could be clouds or the jet streams of dragons. It was hypnotic watching the changing colour feeling the spoon sliding through the liquid seeing the delicate trails left behind and smelling the potion fumes, lavender and old fashioned lemonade.

"Its boiling" his own voice quiet and detached, he liked it that way, perhaps learning to be more detached was the answer to his problems, yes that and figuring out exactly when it was he'd gone crazy.

A long fingered pale hand flickered into his vision and a fall of dark petals shimmered onto the surface of the potion "Keep stirring" the voice in his ear was dark toned and quiet; there and gone in an instant. Nothing like the Snape of his classes….. class, that had been where it all started.

_Slicing hellebore one eye on the knife the other on Snape, watching him stalk around the room, he could see where Ginny got the idea that he could be attractive there was a certain grace there, and he had a voice that could probably melt chocolate, but the man sucked at personal grooming and Merlin the attitude. Tall dark and dangerous, Harry shook his head, give him bright and uncomplicated any day…._

_**Liar**_

_His hand faltered on the knife, the voice curled around him like a snake sweet velveteen mockery of his own. It was a voice he had only know in his darkest dreams before, never in waking life_

_**Ah precious, but you've never needed me before like you need me now.**_

_He watched a tremor shoot through his hand making uneven slices where precise cuts had been what do you mean There wouldn't be an answer of course, he was getting as bad as Neville, talking to himself…._

**_Harry. Harry. Harry. You know what I mean precious you're drawn to darkness its where you belong after all, drowning in darkness, surrounded by death…_**

_A sudden whirling montage, his parents, Cedric, Sirius, people he didn't even know dying to keep him safe Hermione and Ron in pain… A sudden sharp sting cut off the images and he looked down to see that the hellebore had ended and he'd sliced the end of his finger and blood was seeping like a crimson serpent towards the potion ingredients he pulled his hand up and stuck his finger reflexively in his mouth, copper taste flooding over his tastebuds in a wave as a malevolent hiss filled his mind _

_**Golden boy**_

The memory staggered him and his stirring faltered for a moment, but he managed to pick up the rhythm "What is it Harry?" that gentle dark glissando ran over his nerves like warm water numbing him for a moment "A memory" his voice trembled this time and he felt his knuckles whiten on the spoon as he tried to keep a grip on the here and now, on sanity.

"Ah" there was a world of meaning in that syllable as if Severus Snape knew all about bad memories

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Severus Snape felt chill slide down his veins, the tone of the boys voice when he spoke of memories, oh yes it was familiar to him , as familiar as his own reflection in the glass, he glanced down at the potion, a perfect sunset pink colour "Stop stirring Harry" between them they had made what, even to his exacting standards, was a perfect influenza potion.

Pulling a dipper from the wall he carefully ladled some out and gently pushed it towards Potters mouth "here, try this" his voice was carefully controlled, he owned the boy, but did Harry trust him, pink lips opened and without a question or qualm Harry sipped, and then surprised wonder crossed his face lightening the memory that had been there "It tastes like chocolate, and, and cherries" He felt a smile pull at the corner of his mouth "Not everything I make tastes bad Harry"

Green eyes met his, and for a moment time stood very still as Harry said "I know"


	10. Chapter Nine

I know its been ages, but c'mon guys Christmas! I also had a little writers block so this is a short one, its necessary for the plot I promise! I cured it with a vignette called Ghosts which I'd love some commentary on :) special love will go to all who review! Extra special chocolate and cherries goodness to anyone who can guess where I'm getting the titles from

Chapter Nine - _Thy self thy foe, to thy sweet self too cruel_

Three days had passed and Severus could see some small improvements in his charge, Harry was eating, minute amounts but still something, and sleeping although not without Severus presence beside him, he had found that his own dreams always featured the deserted black beach with waves lapping against the shoreline. When Harry was there too they talked, sometimes for hours, sometimes for brief moments before something occurred to throw him away from the conversation, something that tasted malevolent and unclean.

Foulness aside Harry had become quietly, well, contented in their routine of shared silence, but it couldn't continue in a short space of time school would be back in session. He looked over Harry's shoulder into the cauldron the boy was stirring. It appeared to be the correct consistency and had the colour of ripe marsh mallow flowers a light pinkish white, now would be the time to interrupt "Harry" his hand whispering over the boys shoulder caused a jump but not a flinch, no beaten dog under his hand here as it had been scant days ago.

"Harry, we need to see about those ribs" the boy nodded, but his head didn't raise, nor did the rhythmic stirring cease "Poppy Pomfrey is back and we can see her…" "No" the boys voice was flat "No, I want you to fix them please" A very small smile touched the edge of Severus' mouth. Such perfect trust, he well appreciated it after all it was scarcely earned but he slowly shook his head "I don't have the expertise Harry, not for such deep damage" He saw the tension creep into Harry's shoulders stiffening his spine like a willow sapling sensing the approaching storm. The boys head fell forward over the cauldron as if he was scanning the contents for the answers for the rights and wrongs and Harry's hand rose to trace the lines of his throat as if mapping an invisible collar.

Severus watched in silence as slender fingers rested against the arc of a collar bone before a jerky nod surfaced "Alright" Harry's voice was breathy light as a whisper of wind through reeds it spoke of effort expended in sheer control, and Severus was not without appreciation. He laid a gentle hand over the boys feeling the hairline tremors that rocked him "Thank you Harry" the boy tensed and Severus could see his mouth moving, he waited, still and silent he'd seen this before when the shattered had something to say but needed time to work it through to words then in a whisper "can she come here"

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The hand at his throat made it all easier.

It rested atop his hand, yes, but it was still there a cool warmth against his own burning skin. He heard the noise of assent to his request but it was swamped in the resurgence of colours purples, golds, bright sparkles raining across his vision. It happened more and more of late but he had chosen not to mention it. He wanted to ask Hermione when she returned after summer break, she was after all, the clever one.

The hand left his throat and he watched the coloured vapour trails as Snape crossed to the fire, the sparkles flared and then sucked all of the other colours away as he bent to speak. Harry blinked as he watched the firecall feeling suddenly clearer his hand faltered in its mechanical stirring and he felt the chills shiver up his back as the spectre of madness taunted him again.

_Harry………………………………_

He shuddered, and started as Madame Pomfrey stepped through the fire, brushing ashes off of the shoulders of a pink woollen cardigan. Her voice raised in what sounded to him like condemnation "….And I'll say again Severus Snape if the boy has multiple breaks and bad bone setting then he needs to be in the infirmary not down in the damp dungeon dimness"

The infirmary, where everyone could see him, find him, no……

He dropped the spoon into the liquid and took two steps backwards, his eyes swinging upwards and meeting with a shock as sudden as a slap the blackness of the potions professors.

Calm washed over him like a deep sea "I'd rather stay here, thanks Madame Pomfrey" his own voice, but flat, not relaxed but not tense either, almost neutral but with undercurrents of broken glass waiting to cut the unwary. He heard her tut and then move closer her hand suddenly on his person without his permission and he flinched, she made a soothing noise probably thinking he'd moved in pain. But it wasn't pain, and those midnight eyes that held his knew that.

"Multiple breaks, badly set, Harry what did you do, tussle with a dragon on your holidays" her words were light but there was an undercurrent of worry, he smiled and closed his eyes to hide them "A killer whale Madame, nothing less" she paused and he could sense her puzzlement before he felt the harsh press of her wand and a rushed mutter of words and sibilants that he couldn't quite catch as the pain rushed up and ate him alive.


	11. Chapter Ten

Congratulations agirlcalledkill2586 that is indeed where the chapter titles are coming from, the chocolate covered character of your choice wings its way to you with a freshly shaken squirty cream bottle and glace cherries!

AND does anyone else but me imagine Snape's lines drawled by Alan Rickman?

Chapter Ten - _When in disgrace with fortune_

Severus caught Harry as he fell, one arm looped around the boys waist cradling his head and neck in the crook of his collar bone. Poppy didn't look up she was too busy weaving healing magic's to wonder how the boy had been caught only that he had been, she was a powerful witch this one, as were all of the teachers Dumbledore had pulled to his school, sometimes Severus wondered at Tom Riddles sanity in not seeing them for the fighting force that they were.

A shift against his side and he looked down to meet Slytherin green eyes, muddy with pain but still undeniably lovely, the girls in Gryffindor were undoubtedly sighing every time the boy looked at them. He watched the boys nose wrinkle as one tear escaped him, Severus automatically wiped it away "There Harry, a little pain makes us more than we are" he felt his lips twitch into a small, but relevant, smile. A little cruciatus taught you to appreciate pain.

A lot taught you to embrace it.

Harry sniffed but a similar smile bowed his lips as Poppy straightened "There, that's the best I can do, bad healing is going to leave you with some permanent damage, but nothing that should stop you leading a perfectly normal life….if….if! you relax for the next couple of days" He felt Harry tense and lifted his eyebrows "I think I can keep Mr Potter tied up for the next couple of days with something relaxing, don't you Harry?"

He waited for the affirmative for a few moments before looking down to find Harry looking back at him through ridiculously long lashes with a grin haunting his features. Severus frowned, what had he said that was funny?

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Harry wanted to laugh for the first time in ages.

More and more every moment he saw the look of face slapped confusion on Severus Snape's normally inscrutable face, of course he was also blushing, because (and DAMN teenage hormones leading to a dirty mind) he had instantly flashed on being tied up with something relaxing in mind.

Of course he'd never considered Snape in that light before, but if one was owned by someone then one had to expect all sorts of things, and kinkiness was but one interesting part. And that look on Severus' face…..

He laughed.

It wasn't a long laugh or particularly belly rumbling, but it was there, and he saw it, and dawning comprehension reflected in midnight eyes "Ha ha, Mr Potter, ten points to Gryffindor for managing to make something said by a nurse into an innuendo worthy of Slytherin" Harry wanted to argue that it hadn't been Madame Pomfreys expression he had corrupted, but the undercurrent of sarcastic humour in Snapes voice made it impossible to do anything but enjoy the joke.

It had been a long time since he'd done that, when had the last time been, some gag of Ron's about Malfoy which had been nearly a year ago. He turned abruptly in Snape's arms and hugged him "Thanks" a gentle pressure, mindful of his ribs, was to his shock returned "A mere pittance Potter" Then he was settled upon the edge of the sofa whilst Severus ushered out Madame Pomfrey it was obvious he'd done it before, ignoring all of her gentle clucking and getting her into the fire and away without a moments break in his aloof savoir faire.

Then he turned back in a swirl of black robe "So Harry, tell me, what happened?" the voice was gentle but there was an undertone of command to it, for a moment he balked, he was a Gryffindor they didn't confide in Slytherin, especially not the head of Slytherin who'd been so out of character nice….

_Yesss Harry, tell ussss all about it_

He was speaking before the last hissed sibilant had left his mental space.

"It was like this….."

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Harry's voice was calm but there was an edge to it, like a perfectly made sword, just as likely to cut you as an enemy. "…..my cousin, the muggle, and I don't get along, and neither do his friends and I. They decided that they didn't like my looks and were going to change them, every summer, since I started at Hogwarts and they couldn't get to me at school, I have a few interesting scars apart from this one"

Severus watched as Harry's hand lingered on the lightening bolt shaped curse scar, and felt compelled to speak "There is more to you than your scars Harry, I hope there is more to all of us than the marks we bear, much as they may come, in some way to define us, they do not make us whom and what we are"

Emerald eyes were watching him and in them was a need so huge that it was almost overwhelming, and realization struck. Harry Potter, Dumbledore's crowned saviour of the wizarding world was balanced on the edge of madness out of a simple desire to have someone care for him.

It was really that simple.

Men died from lack of love, and Harry Potter was dying, they needed his friends back at Hogwarts and a supportive network established. He had never lost a Slytherin to suicide or madness, he supposed he could extend his record to one annoying Gryffindor.


	12. Chapter Eleven

For all those who beg so prettily for updates, two in quick succession.

Chapter Eleven - _Look in thy glass, and tell the face thou viewest_

It was dark in the owlery, and Severus Snape was there alone, and feeling treacherous. Which, was given his position in the scheme of things faintly ironic. He had just slipped two owls out of the school to two people he personally loathed to help the bain of his teaching career; a slight smile crept onto his face define irony indeed.

He turned careful to keep his robes clear of the guano that littered the floor and walked back to the head of the staircase, the night was clear and cold and yet he hardly felt it. All he could feel was the niggling ache in his magic that was Harry Potter, which was another, less noble reason that he had sent for Granger and Weasley. He needed his solitude, relied upon it to make some of the terrible decisions he had to make, an emotionally damaged saviour of the wizarding world clinging to him, interfering with his concentration……

Well….

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_One day later_

Stirring was, Harry had discovered one of the most pleasant motions that you could be asked to make, it went round and around but eventually got somewhere, the potion he was working on now was for bruises and started a dark purplish black, went yellow and then faded to clear smelling faintly of mint and lemon zest.

Professor Snape had given him that slight smile and said that if he applied himself half as well in class then he would make an excellent NEWTS candidate, which was nice, it was nice to be valued as a normal student as someone with no expectations of them other than passing the next exam, the potion was starting to thin which meant that he needed to turn the heat down……

**BANG**

The so far unused front door of professor Snape's private quarters reverberated under a blow and Harry flinched knocking himself against the rim of the cauldron as he let out what he barely recognised as his own voices high pitched whine of fear.

**BANG **

Professor Snape came from the back room, his robes like ravens wings around him and approached the front door, Harry wanted to throw himself forward, stop him from approaching the danger that lurked outside the door, or hide behind him from it but he couldn't make his paralysed limbs move. He watched as if in slow motion as one long fingered hand went to the door handle and twisted a precise half turn clockwise.

The door swung inwards.

He felt his arm lift, wand hanging perfectly relaxed between thumb and forefingers. No one was going to hurt them, not this time. His lips began to form a curse even as rampant ginger hair forced its way through the door. "Where's Harry" Ron's voice was indignant and familiar, but Harry felt frozen stopped in time as Hermione almost fell through the now open door behind Ron. Seeking sanctuary He looked up and found his eyes locked with inky darkness.

Swirls of sparkles, purple and rich gold caught at his vision even as professor Snape crossed the room to him "its alright Harry" the voice was mellow richness, velvet brushing against his over sensitised skin "Its just your overly loud friends" a pause "You can put the wand down now" A hands gentle pressure on his and he lowered his wand before looking studiously at the floor. He could feel the other wizard like a line of heat against his body, reassuring warmth.

"Harry mate" Ron's voice was quieter but still felt out of place in the careful solitude he'd built here with Severus Snape. He looked up and caught the redheads eye forcing a small smile "Ron, what brings you here" Watching he saw the look exchanged between Ron and Hermione and she answered him "We heard you….weren't well, we came to see if we could help"

Weren't well. A nice polite, dentists way of putting things but the concern seemed real enough, hers and Ron's he unconsciously traced the lines of his invisible collar from point to point on his throat feeling warmth and reassurance from the action from the release from responsibility it brought with it.

Once again he looked to Severus Snape, this time out of curiosity, what would the man do? he had loathed them as a group for so long. There was a twist beside his mouth but nothing else, he intercepted Harrys look and the twist grew into a smile softer than anything Harry had ever seen in class, gentle and somehow precious. Then he looked back to his friends and tried to give them a smile "Thanks guys, I'm glad you're here.

But the thing was. Was he?


	13. Chapter Twelve

Thanks once more for the reviews guys PrettyYaoiBoyz I agree totally about Alan Rickman, the man is a god Grinedel thank you for that greatest of compliments, real emotion toostupidforyou and all of the rest :) the continuing saga…

Chapter Twelve - _From fairest creatures we desire increase_

He, Ron and Hermione had talked for hours before they had hustled off to the Gryffindor dorms to get some sleep. He could tell from the way they had watched, offhand and yet focused that they expected him to go with them but he couldn't – it wasn't that she didn't want to, in a way it would have been comforting, but he knew he wouldn't sleep. Not up there, not alone.

Stepping softly he moved towards the bedroom, it was late, he didn't want to wake Snape from whatever sleep the man was getting…..

"Oh"

The sound slipped out without him knowing it, Severus was sleeping on his back coverlet pulled up to his chin black hair splashed over the pillows like dark water the moonlight from the high slotted windows catching on it with a gleam like fine spun silver. Long eyelashes spilled onto high cheekbones highlighting the proud arch of the Roman nose and the somehow drawn aspect of plum coloured lips.

He looked beautiful.

Harry took three steps backwards before turning on his heel and heading for the door, he could sleep in the Gryffindor common room, in the prefects bathroom, on a bench in the great hall……

Anywhere but there next to a man whom he had given ownership of his life too who he suddenly found attractive. But no, he wouldn't sleep at all. He vaguely remembered the nights before Severus had started to share his bed the fevered tossing desperately trying to escape the fetid something in his dreams……..

_Harrrrry_

The whisper of his name was clear even if sybyllantly hissed, he turned and fell into bloodstone eyes.

_Oh Harrry, you never dreamed that getting away from me was going to be that easy did you. _His own face rendered starkly beautiful looked back at him long black hair slicked back from his face forehead pure and clean of any scars highlighted by that mad bad beautiful stare.

Long fingers touched his cheek keeping their gazes locked _I see what your thinking Harrry, thinking of the serpent that guards your sleep, but he can't save you Harrry nothing can……_

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An absence woke Severus. It was odd but he had gotten used to Potter sleeping quietly by his side. He sat up listening for sounds of Potters friends speaking, an explanation for the absence of boy by his side but he heard nothing.

He slipped gently from the bed, recoiling slightly from the chill of the stone against his feet and padded into the ante room where he saw the boy collapsed in a spill of robes and hair. Kneeling he placed a pair of fingers against the boys throat, picking up a pulse rapid and shallow against their tips he pulled the boy around so that Potters head was resting in his lap.

Without conscious thought he ran fingers through the boys hair feeling it slide like silk against their tips, the boys eyelids were flickering as if he were dreaming "What now Harry" his voice was quiet but it caused Potters eyelids to flicker upwards, for a moment, for one madness making moment there was a flutter of vermillion at their centre before dilated pupils focused on him

"Severus" the boys voice was doubtful and it quavered and that pulled forth a smile from Snape "Yes Potter in the flesh" the boy actually smiled before Harry uncharacteristically buried his face in his chest shaking and still.


	14. Chapter Thirteen

Haha bet you all thought this story was dead, well you were wrong

_Haha bet you all thought this story was dead, well you were wrong! I had major writers block and of course I had to mourn my precious baby (this story will stay off cannon, no ones killing my Snape!) ____ thank you for those that reviewed, let me know what you think of this chapter too!_

_Chapter Thirteen - For thy neglect of truth in beauty dyed?_

Severus cradled the back of Harry's head with his hand, his customary sarcasm stilled by the boy's obvious distress. Here was the heart of it, that something that was haunting the boy, causing him to tread the very edge of madness. He refused to think about that crazed vermillion flash in Potters emerald eyes. He rubbed gentle circles into the Gryffindors back and leant down slightly "What's wrong Harry, was there….. unpleasantness with Granger and Weasely" If there had been he was going to kill them both, slowly, he needed Potter up and about before school started or the words professional misconduct were going to be staring him right in the face.

Still pressed flush against his chest Potter shook his head, Merlin but the boy was cold, it was as if he'd pulled him from the Pool all over again. Almost automatically his eyes dipped to examine Harry's wrists, intact but for the almost invisible scarring. Sighing Severus stood up and found the boy was wrapped around him like a pet python. It was quite, pleasant, to be clung to in this way he quite liked the utter trust it represented and….. he shook his head against any other thought that might surface and trod deliberately back into the bedroom.

He gently unravelled Harry and slid him into bed before climbing in himself, luckily robes could double as nightwear without any trouble, and both he and Harry were more comfortable that way, although he'd seen the boy naked numerous times. Harry's eyes were closed, but they flickered open when Severus let his weight dip the mattress. And they were almost black in the dim light from the banked fire, the expression in them however was easily read, it was need pure and simple, then the lids fluttered closed again. Severus carefully rummaged in his bedside drawer before taking out the vial of sleeping potion he kept there for emergencies. He popped the top with his thumb and gently pressed the rim against Potters lips, the boy drank without opening his eyes, such trust, such stupidity. For a moment a smile touched his mouth as he almost felt the potion take effect in the unknotting of Harry's muscles and he laid himself down beside him and composed himself for sleep.

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Harry found himself on that dark beach beside its warming green fire, and he let himself feel relaxed. Nothing bad ever seemed to happen here the other had never pursued him across the starlit shadowy sand. A moment later Snape strolled in, like some shadowed seraph come to inspect the state of Harry's soul. The professor sat down and Harry hesitated for a moment before grinning to himself, it was his dream Merlin damn it, no one would ever know.

He strode across the beach in about three strides and gently placed himself in his professor's lap. For a moment there was utter stillness and then arms were wrapped around him as perfect pianists fingers traced the velvet of his collar "what am I going to do with you Potter?" the midnight voice slid down his spine and wrapped around all the inner parts of him that ached and hurt and somehow soothed him. Here there was no doubt, no fear, just the two of them and the rumbling crash of the surf somewhere out in the blackness, far enough away to leave the shady sand crumbly and warm but still close enough to be a peaceful susurrus.

Leaning back into the light embrace of someone not so long ago he'd seen as a mortal enemy he laughed, a low rusty sound, but the chuckle was real as opposed to the light forced laughs he'd produced for his friends in the waking world "I'm seventeen Severus, do you really want me to answer that" for a moment all was still, even the steady up and down motion of the chest behind him stilled and then a small gurgle escaped the older man, a laugh just as rusty as Harry's own. "No I don't, insolent Gryffindor" the words were stern, but the tone of voice wasn't the laugh remained woven throughout the speech like gold thread in tapestry.


	15. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen - To make some special instant special-blest

Chapter Fourteen - _To make some special instant special-blest_

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Bang.

Harry awoke suddenly from his drugged slumber and he was half way across the room with his wand in hand before he heard the voices. Hermione and Ron's tones intertwining with the deep melody of Severus "He wasn't in the Gryffindor dorms last night" Ron's exasperation and accusation were loud even as he stepped out into the main room, wand still out but relaxed at his side. "Harry" Hermione's voice was light, clear and somewhat, relieved? After the prickling hostility of Ron.

It came to him then that he was siding with Professor Snape of all people against his very best friends and it felt so natural. He leant back against the very handily placed wall to support his shaking knees, his eyes wandered across his two friends to Severus, and again colours swirled across his vision, red, purple, gold, all complimenting the darkness that was his potions professor. He needed to ask Hermione about that, he realised then that they were staring at him, no, not quite Ron and Hermione were staring, Snape was watching, obsidian eyes finely tuned with, was it, concern?

Slowly he pushed himself to a more upright position, his knees, much to his surprise, stayed under him without collapse "Hi Ron, 'moine" his voice didn't tremble but there was something he didn't like about it, the echo's of vulnerability perhaps or a slight flatness, and it came to him that he didn't really want them there, interrupting the precious silence that he had built up with Severus Snape. Very carefully he re holstered his wand inside his sleeve and stepped towards them, he tried to force his mouth into a welcoming smile but it didn't want to go, so rather than forming a rictus he allowed it to fall into its naturally more sombre lines.

Hermione wrapped her arms around him and he flinched, and not just from the pain in his newly healed ribs, he didn't want to be held by anyone, well, maybe one person. He looked up and found Severus busily arranging chairs into a conversational grouping, before claiming a large leather wing chair for his own. Harry gently detached Hermione, allowing her to retain her almost feverish grip on his hand (his non wand hand) before taking a seat himself.

"So mate, where were you last night" Ron's voice was relaxed but somehow heavy with menace, or at least that's how it felt, for a moment Harry could almost see his own nerves, as thin as winters first ice across puddles. He didn't know how to answer so his eyes fled across the room to Severus.

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He met Potters panicked gaze and very nearly smiled, he'd been feeling unsettled all morning, dreams of a much bolder Harry Potter had haunted his sleep and were still disturbing his mind, phantoms to add to his collection "Mr Potter was here Mr Weasely and here he shall remain until I deem him well enough to return to school" there was a moment of the utter stillness that he would have appreciated in his classes and then Weasley's voice erupted "Not with you!"


	16. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen - Where I may not remove nor be removed

_Chapter Fifteen - Where I may not remove nor be removed_

Ron's disgust, fear and loathing rippled over Harry's skin like the tongues of a cat of nine tails, chipping at his peace shredding his skin. "Ron…" his voice was low and quiet, and Hermione squeezed his hand as if to remind him that she was there, almost as if she expected a knock down no holds barred brawl. Well he was in no shape for that, and he didn't think Severus would like it very much. Severus. When had he started thinking of the prickly potions professor by first name? was it in those strangely comforting dreams where he was held safe in the mans arms, or was it simply that he owed the Slytherin head his life and that destroyed formality. "…Ron…mate…I need to be here" His voice was a whisper by the end he felt like he has swallowed broken glass, his gaze was fixed firmly on the floor, finding the dips and hollows in the weathered stone unutterably fascinating.

"Harry…" Ron's voice was strained, as if he too had sipped from the waters of the Pool "you need to be with your friends, with your own kind" My friends; he looked up and quietly surveyed Ron and then Hermione _Sssuch friends my darling they never noticed, never sssaw past their own tiny concerns to yours… _Harry closed his eyes against the hissing temptation that rang across his mind, the feeling like feathers brushing across his brain, muffling his own thoughts, that they were not his own kind no one was. The Wizarding world's saviour, born to die.

His hand came up and traced the invisible line around his throat, and knew then that he wanted to stay, perilous attraction and wizards debt out of the way, he had never been as content as he was now in the perfect working silence he had built with Severus Snape. Snape asked more of him than he was willing to give, but somehow gave even more, it was like being a willing slave with a master that you knew would never beat you "Harry…" this time it was Hermione "Are you sure?" Bless her for her tact she asked for nothing and so deserved to receive something, he squeezed her hand lightly observing that his palms were sweating slightly and turned his body so that his eyes could meet worried brown "I'm sure 'moine I'm…." he struggled with the word for a moment "content"

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Content? The boy was content living with him, with all the horrors Potter had managed to live with over the years and yet he had found a fragile peace in a tetchy spy's quarters. It was something of a revelation to Severus Snape that he could give that to Dumbledore's Golden Boy, he'd been sure that as soon as the boy saw his friends he'd be off like a shot, back to Gryffindor heaven. But then, they didn't seem to see past the surface, whereas he had learned to look beyond that. The boy was so badly broken that he could hardly be considered a threat to Voldemort, or maybe the façade would hold long enough for that to happen.

He doubted it.

Voldemort was a master of breaking the noble, and with Potters shattered body and notably unstable psyche he'd be nothing but a breakfast snack for Tom Marvolo Riddle. Severus looked up from his survey of the floor to find Granger watching him; he raised an eyebrow inviting her to speak and she took the invitation "Where's Harry going to stay?" Clever little Witch had counted doors, academic malpractice was once again whispering in his ears Dumbledore's permission or not "A place will be found for him, have no fear" As soon as the boy could be detached from his bed, a flicker of, was it fear crossed Harry's face and for a moment Severus almost reached out to reassure Potter instead he tightened his hands on the arms of his chair. He could lower his guard for one battered Gryffindor but not to two other obnoxious brats.

"Harry" his voice was even but he saw the spurt of surprise in Weasley's face, but he couldn't call the boy Potter, not when it brought back suddenly graphic images of the-boy-who-wouldn't –bloody-die naked in his bed "No one, I repeat, no one, can make you go anywhere, Dumbledore has approved your stay here" Snape watched as the boys fingers traced his throat, where his nightly phantom wore a velvet collar, before Harry nodded his head.


	17. Chapter Sixteen

Many thanks to Serpent91, XLVII and Anne399 I love reviews and you guys have been feeding my addiction

Many thanks to Serpent91, XLVII and Anne399 I love reviews and you guys have been feeding my addiction!

Chapter Sixteen - _And see thy blood warm when thou feel'st it cold_

Harry noted that Ron looked like he was going to have an apoplexy in less than five minutes, it amused him, and catching obsidian eyes he could see it also amused his potions professor. A very slight smile ghosted its way across Severus' face, probably invisible to all but Harry, who had learned to read the slightest nuance of Snape's expression.

"Ron, mate" Harry's voice was slightly more confident, he was pleased to hear "I think you should go, I'll come up later to see how your doing" Ron's complexion, which had been pink was getting redder by the second, soon it would match his hair…. If he didn't explode before then. Hermione gracefully stood; finally releasing his hand, and went over to where Ron was sitting she gracefully bent and kissed his cheek before pulling him upright "Come on Ron, we'll see Harry later" her glance over her should carried a particular look that Harry had seen before, it carried the promise of death by heavy tomes if he didn't do what she wanted, he carefully inclined his head, he would see them later, but out of his safe space.

He watched them carefully until they left and then his whole attention slid to Severus, the other man looked preoccupied, so something in Harry some jinn of mischief saved from his more innocent first year, before Voldemort, propelled him across the room and without hesitation he sat down in Severus' lap.

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The boy was light. Merlin, he was hardly there. It reminded him so much of the dream he'd had last night that he almost embraced the bane of his existence instead he spoke "What are you playing at now Potter" No, shouldn't have used the word potter, his mind suddenly flashed to the imp naked in his bed…….

He closed his eyes and prayed for control. He was a grown man, not a teenager, and this boy was so fucked up mentally and emotionally that he was probably reaching out to the first person who was even vaguely nice to him.

"I'm not playing, I'm safer here" His eyes snapped open at that sentence, said in Potters low almost inflectionless tone. Safe, the boy was looking for safety and cuddles like a five year old and you….. He mentally cursed himself, and allowed his arms to enfold the battered saviour of the Wizarding world.


	18. Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Seventeen - _Made old offences of affections new_

_Two Days Later_

"School begins again tomorrow" the low voice in Harry's ear startled him from the book on advanced potions he'd been reading, the message thrilled up and down his spine, school, people all those people watching him like dogs at the dinner table, wondering what he was going to do next, be it foolish or daring. "I don't want to go" his voice was hoarse fear and the sudden dryness of his throat combined together to make him sound, odd.............

Abruptly Severus was there kneeling before him "Harry, you have to" shadowed eyes looked straight into his, and written there was compassion he suspected few would believe of Hogwarts most reviled professor "These rooms are not a hiding place from the world, they can be a comfort to you when the world becomes too much, or a thin ledge to stand on when you feel everything has slid out from beneath your feet, but I refuse to let you become a coward"

Coward! How dare Snape of all people call him a coward, his fists balled ready for a blow. And then he read the expectation of it in obsidian eyes, and relaxed back instead "As my master commands" he'd been aiming for sarcasm but instead had managed only semi serious and Severus' fingers brushed against his throat where the collar rested in his dreams and Harry shuddered in uncontrolled pleasure.

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Severus had been ready for violence, not submission, from all of the boys previous temper tantrums. But then, that was then and this was now, that boy couldn't have enjoyed the silence of potion making with a perfectionist leaning over his shoulder as he knew that Harry did, that boy wouldn't come to Severus Snape for affection, wouldn't share his bed with such unconcerned ease.......

Speaking of beds

"I have a surprise for you" He stood in one hopefully effortless seeming motion from in front of Harry and walked to a painting showing a woman holding lilies "Privacy" the word left his lips with enough volume that he knew Harry could hear but not so he was shouting. The portrait swung open and he stepped in, knowing the teen was following, he has a sixth sense now where Potters proximity was in question. He looked around inside and was pleased with what the house elves had achieved. A fire roared in one corner, on the same wall rested a desk stocked with quills and ink and rolls of parchment paper, Harry's trunk was at the foot of a four poster bed that was swagged not in Gryffindor green and gold but more muted black and green, personal colours for the boy-who-just-couldn't-die, near the fire was a sofa and a wingback chair both in brown leather. Turning he looked at Harry who was looking around the room in silence and raised an eyebrow when the boys eyes finally met his "Its very nice thank you sir but…"the child broke of "But" he echoed gently "Iprefersleepingwithyou" it took a moment for Severus to decode the babble but when he did he smiled gently at the boy "And you can, that's fine, but you'll need to work, and occasionally see your friends and I need to do the same that's what this is about"


	19. Chapter Eighteen

I'd like to add here my thanks to my lovely beta Stupidmuse hatesme

Chapter Eighteen - _Where time and outward form would show it dead_

Alone and in the middle of the night Severus Snape was staring into the fire; it was the only illumination that fed into the darkness. The silence was complete, bar the occasional pop or crackle from the wood, and the movements of Harry asleep on Egyptian cotton sheets in the other room.

He should be in there too, asleep. School began in….. about seven hours and he needed to be on his best form to meet the new rush of Slytherins, and see to the needs of the returning years. But instead he was sitting in front of the fire thinking about Harry Potter. He wasn't sure if it was safe for the boy to go back to classes; he was so damn submissive. Severus could cope with it, and he even guiltily liked it. It was so different from the obnoxious Potter he'd always seen. Which, he realised must have been a shield; destroying oneself wasn't normally a decision one came to overnight.

It had been easy to step into the position of master for Harry. Severus was not substitute father, as he was for many of his Slytherins, but something both darker and richer. The tension between them was there, just waiting to be acknowledged, and he wasn't going to let himself bow to it any time yet. At least, not until the boy was a little less broken.

But it was tempting, Merlin only knew how tempted he was by the boy-who-wouldn't-fucking-die. He wasn't sure if it was the eyes that had done him in, or the quiet nights on a beach, that didn't exist, inside his head that were oh so intimate. He'd done some research on those dreams and finally realised that they were real, some point after 3am when the book on sympathetic magic had finally been thrown at the wall in ceaseless irritation.

So Potter and he were connected. It was surprisingly easy to accept, and he wondered if the bond the sympathy created was working on his mind to make that so. He didn't much care as long as he had control over this relationship, and everything so far had pointed that way. He could be content; feed him up a little and Harry would be a stunner.

He settled back into the arm chair looking into the flames just letting his mind drift, school was only hours away he really should…. And that was as far as he got before sleep sucked him under.


End file.
